I choose him.
Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a
warrior like my father. When I was old enough, I chose to follow in his
footsteps and I joined the King’s army. As did some of my friends and
others who just wanted to fight. Many of them chose to kill the innocent
women and children we were supposed to be protecting but I couldn’t – and
still can’t – do that. But I didn’t prevent their deaths either, and I
cursed my cowardice for that every day. And, in time, I started to get used
to the deaths and my soul began to die.
And then, one day, I met him.
A group of us were lodging in a small village
on night and we were all at the local tavern. Two blue eyes, sparkling with
an inner light, captured mine from across the room, taking my soul as well.
He was beautiful. Only just a man, and so
innocent. I wanted him more than I had wanted anything in my life. When he
left the tavern, I followed him to his home. He let me in, although he did
not even know my name, and we talked for hours, learning about each other.
At sunrise, I kissed him.
His lips were sweeter than any woman’s, and
his innocence was intoxicating. Our coupling was intense, and I made
certain not to hurt him. He had no fear of letting my inside him, only a
trust that I would not hurt him; I couldn’t betray that. Afterwards, as he
lay in my arms, I knew that I could not be parted from him. I told him that
I loved him and that I wanted to protect him; I asked him to join my life
because I couldn’t imagine not being a warrior.
He said yes.
Every day since then, I have slowly watched
that light in his eyes die and that soft, flawless skin become marred by
scars. He never wanted to be a warrior or to kill but he did because he had
chosen to be with me. He endured the taunts from the others that he was my
whore because he knew he had my love. During the days, we would train and
fight, but at night we would make love. We always had to hold our love back
though so that no-one else would know that this wasn’t simply release. I
hated that as much as he did but it was necessary to keep us both alive.
Then, only a few days ago, he told me he was
leaving, that he couldn’t stand the killing any more. I was scared – what
would I do without him? Could I give up everything I was to follow him?
Didn’t he love me anymore?
When he told me that he still loved me, I
knew it was true because I could see how much the choice to leave was
costing him. And then I realised what it had cost him to stay for as long
as he had. He was losing his soul just like I had been before I had met
him.
And in that moment, I made another choice. I
chose to save him. He is more important to me than any battle or war. So I
left most of my belongings behind and joined him in walking away from all
that destruction. I don’t know what I’ll become now but it won’t have
anything to do with killing; he deserves that much from me.
I spoon up behind him as we lie in front of
the fire, and slowly enter his body, gently loving him like I have wanted to
from the start. He lets me in, gasping his pleasure at the sensation, and
encouraging me to keep going. As our momentum gradually builds up, both of
us get louder, free to express our pleasure and love now that no-one else is
around. And after we achieve our release, I stay inside him for awhile,
wanting to continue enjoying his welcoming warmth.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he murmurs
sleepily, his arm laying across mine where it rests on his stomach.
“Me too.” When it came down to it, there was
no contest: I would choose him over anything else in the world, no matter
what the cost. I gently kiss the back of his neck. He is my world and I
intend to prove that to him every day.
I choose to make him happy.
